


In Kind

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Sex Toy Dean, Sexual Dysfunction, Switch Castiel, Switch Sam, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t get it up for just anybody (or his boyfriend). Apparently somebody: their new customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Kind

“Ohfuck.“

He is squirming as helpless and harmless as a newborn, not even trying to get away – opening up like a Christmas present for Sam; eyes closed, mouth and asshole loose and inviting. It’s been long and maybe _too_ long and Sam shivers when the push in is so _easy_ , shockingly alike to a girl, only that this girl here has a back as wide as Sam’s, hairy legs and ass and a voice rough enough to sand down that old cupboard Cas picked up for their kitchen on the side of the street a few months ago.

Yeah, no. Dean definitely is something different – the first guy Sam has ever gotten it up for.

(Cas said he doesn’t mind.)

“Uhn.” Yeah, Sam feels the resistance too, has to draw back, find a new angle. His heart is racing all the way down through his dick, as hard as it hasn’t been in a long time, and it’s a good, addictive sensation. His breathing is coming through his mouth already. He licks at the sweat accumulating on his upper lip.

Cas looks calm, not concerned, so Sam keeps on pushing. Dean whines and Cas tells him, “Shhh,” while he pets through his hair, up on one elbow, nursing on his blunt. Watching. Cas likes to watch. There was not much to watch in the past few months, and there wouldn’t be now if Dean wasn’t some kind of miracle sent from up above.

Dean is pretty in the way that must have gotten him in trouble in school; ugly names and maybe groping and maybe bloody noses all around, so foremost he’s _tough_ – bossy, barbed, butch. Lots of tension. Someone recommended Cas to him at a party or something (he said something about a bar if Sam remembers correctly) and so Dean turned up here because Cas is way too carefree with giving away their base.

And so Dean was here, and Sam was the bloody fool to open the goddamn door. (Sam thinks he was hard from the second Dean’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips when he first spoke.)

_Dean plays simple-minded but Sam knows that kind of expression: the waiting, the studying. They play that game half of the time themselves._

_“So, I’ve heard you’ve got something for me?”_

_“Depends. What are you looking for?”_

_Dean was wearing this pathetic leather jacket that’s nowadays flung somewhere on their floor together with his rundown jeans, the thinned out Motörhead tee. Whatever Dean thought it would get him to raise that one lovely corner of his mouth to flash dimple and teeth, it probably got him that. “Heard your buddy Cas is a busy lil’ gardener.”_

This here wouldn’t be happening if Dean wasn’t so completely stoned, Sam is honest with himself there. They had tried before – it’s payment before merchandise, after all – but Sam’s cock just wouldn’t pop in there and Dean would complain, get kind of violent. Now, he’s so peaceful he doesn’t even notice Sam isn’t using a condom.

“That’s it,” hums Cas. “You’re doing so good for us. You like it?”

Dean sighs “Uh-huh,” and Sam gets goosebumps from head to toe, feels his cock giving a happy jump where it’s buried so so deep in Dean’s guts. Dean is writhing again and then gasping faintly when Sam readjusts his hold on his hip, starts moving in small pumping motions. Dean’s insides flex and seize in instinct all around Sam’s cock as if they wanted to keep it in place, but he fucks through it instead and earns himself the sweetest, the best friction. He groans and lets his hand roam up Dean’s flank (meaty, a little pudgy; similar to Cas) and back down, brushes over Dean’s ass.

It had been a risky approach, but Dean had nodded the deal through after a short shock (maybe confusion, maybe unbelieving). Didn’t take much to figure out Dean is everything but the kind of guy who has enough money to spend it on dope on the side. Cas and him had discussed back and forth for a long while if maybe this isn’t the first time Dean agreed to a deal like that, if maybe that’s how he’s paying for gas, for rent, and Cas kind of talked him through what must have been a dozen of pretty spectacular orgasms exploring these possible scenarios in (bizarre) detail.

In the end, Cas said that _nah_ and Dean said _nah_ as well, and Sam believed and still believes them both. Dean is a highly selective kind of slut.

As slow as it had started (one joint for one blow), the faster it had escalated. Still, it’s unclear why Dean had agreed in the first place. Cas and him grow amazing stuff, sure, but the price still is kind of unfair.

In tender, secret moments, Sam likes to imagine Dean finds him attractive too. Dean likes Cas as well, but it’s different between them, no tension or sparks at all. More like as if they had known each other for decades; comfortable and easy. Cas has this comforting effect on most people, actually. Most people steer clear of Sam, actually. Maybe because Cas resembles a fat, lazy cat whereas Sam reminds of a Doberman without muzzle. He doesn’t even have to open his mouth to scare people away. Something about Sam is just... different.

But Dean, though. Dean gives these small little things sometimes, hints and gestures and winks and tweaks and Sam is genuinely sure that Dean _likes_ him – in a twisted, maybe completely inappropriate way. Sam feels looked down on and reached out to at the same time sometime. Dean doesn’t like to speak much. Just like Sam.

There’s something odd when they’re alone (Cas in the bathroom or running an errand or asleep), something that pulls on Sam’s every nerve like a guitar string – pluck, pluck, pluck. Dean likes classic rock. Dean drives a car from several decades ago. Sam was in jail for being too stupid, and Dean has scars he never talks about.

Sam talks about it with Cas, about what it does to Sam (like they talk about everything). Cas thinks they should ask Dean to stay with them. Sam is not so sure.

It’s the kind of scary that draws him _in_ though. How he imagines it would be to be swallowed whole by some beast; head-first. Like Dean and him, that there’s... more.

So Sam likes to think that, somewhere in Dean’s very (very) dazed consciousness, he is aware that he is with Sam right now. That this is Sam, holding him. That it’s Sam’s dick stretching his ass, making him shiver and moan with a glans dragging right across his prostate, and that he had more or less promised that _that thing, dude, is never gonna fit up anyone’s anything_. It had fitted down Dean’s throat though with some practice (has always fitted down Cas’), and apparently it fits up Dean’s ass without any prep but an impressive count of three of their Wonderland fatties.

This, probably, is the first time a deal of theirs is (materialistically) in the favor of the customer.

Cas smiles as he says, “There you go,” and lets Dean suck on his blunt once or twice before taking it away again, Dean lulling something which is obscured by the breath Sam is slamming right out of him (that beautifully loud smack-smack-smack between sweaty thighs, lube-slick pounding that ripples around Sam’s cock on every thrust), and Sam groans all hungry when Cas gets one hand under himself to shove his pants down. The fucker giggles at that, whispers something like, “Wait a second, sweetheart,” and that could be addressed at both Sam and Dean and the fact that Sam cannot tell makes it only so much hotter.

Instead of going straight to it, Cas leans closer and licks into Dean’s waiting mouth for a while before crawling up on his knees and slapping his cock down across it. At this point, Dean is not in the condition to suck anyone off, but Cas likes it sloppy anyway and thus fools around for a while. Sam watches across Dean’s shoulder; pink against pink, dragging, shiny with spit, and that skin-crawling gagging when Cas eventually _does_ go a little further. One thumb hooked into the corner of Dean’s mouth sweetens the pot and Sam curses under his breath and Cas is laughing and Dean is just kind of, well, getting railed.

The good kind of sex noises. God, it’s been way too long.

Sam is a hundred percent sober and should have more control, but he decides he doesn’t want to and just lets go, keeps his hips snapping while his cock shoots almost painful and definitely erratically, deep but not enough to _not_ make it ooze out past the still-tight clutch of Dean’s rim. The aftershocks are rippling through him, Dean’s uncoordinated and cock-muffled noises so sweet, painfully loveable; the best soundtrack to this. Sam sighs and mouths at the back of Dean’s neck and wraps his arms around his chest, tucks in close and lets his cock slip-slide in the mess it created until it’s too much and he pulls out, not completely limp yet and he’ll probably be hard in no less than five minutes but these five minutes he _needs_.

They exchange a single glance and Cas bites his lip, pops his cock from Dean’s pursed lips and strokes himself in the glory of someone who could have a fuck anytime, anywhere, but has the luxury of being choosy. “Get him on his back.”

Sam does, lies down to Dean’s right and runs his hand across his body in complete worship, cheek to balls and up again. He tries to make those eyes focus in on him but if they are not closed they’re drifting, and maybe this here is not the best idea ever. Dean is smiling loosely though, and he has a hard-on. Enough consent. He knew what he was getting himself into tonight.

The scent of latex gathers Sam’s attention and there’s Cas already, as nude as he is most of the time; nothing on but a condom and his ratty hippie bracelets, that pendant around his neck Sam gave him for their two years anniversary. It slides over Dean’s breastbone now as Cas settles in, eats at Dean’s mouth again and Sam can’t blame him for that. Cas hooks Dean’s knees over his shoulders and Sam is fascinated by the movements of muscles under skin in Cas’ back as he aligns himself hands-free, slides in, all silent and elegant and Dean doesn’t look like he even noticed until Cas grinds deep and hard enough to make Dean’s ass lift from the bed.

“Fuck.” Cas sounds happy though, eyes closed and voice rumbling, and Sam smiles at him for that. Blindly, Cas reciprocates the latter. “Baby, you _wrecked_ him.”

“Oh shut up,” Sam teases. “You love it.”

“Damn right I do.” All throaty and Cas gets up on his arms now, lower back dropping low and he’s so gorgeous like that – all wiry, concentration, fuck-precise in the eight figures of his hips. Dean moans at those, or maybe at the growl in Cas’ voice when he specifies, “Love me your sloppy seconds,” and then speeds up. Sam’s turn to bite his lip now. He gets his hand around his cock that’s surprisingly on schedule since Dean came into their lives, and it’s all kind of filthy but he loves it just as much as Cas who doesn’t miss the gesture. There’s that lovely purr he sometimes lets out in reaction to things Sam does, and even though this stuff is not on the table for them it somehow makes Sam really eager to spread his legs for his boyfriend.

“God,” Cas growls. “Gonna give it to him again, later? Gonna leave me a big, juicy mess in there to eat out of him when you’re done?”

“Fuck, _Cas_.” Sam half-laughs that because he’s helpless with Cas’ bluntness sometimes. (There are a lot of reasons to love Cas.)

“That’s so a yes.” Fox-eyed, devil-mouthed little shit. (Yeah. Lots and lots of reasons.)

Sam’s fingers bump against and then start plucking on one of Dean’s nipples while he mouths at Dean’s neck (one fading hickey from two days ago, one about to bloom, one he’s about to add), considers, “Maybe.”

“Oh shut up. You love it.”

Warning but never serious little exchange of looks and Cas is gone again, lost in their shared “whatever Dean Winchester is to us”, nips at the nipple Sam isn’t fumbling with and Dean bucks up into his mouth at that, squirms and mumbles and that’s a good moment for Sam to decide to suck on the other one. Dean whines underneath them and Sam can hear Cas chuckling, sees a pink tongue lapping and white teeth flashing, beard grazing across smooth skin. He mimics that until he feels like nibbling, and wow, Dean _really_ has sensitive nipples, hasn’t he?

Fist wrapped around his cock and mouth switching between Dean’s nipple and neck and earlobe, Sam enjoys the view. Cas is at a good dose, not his “good night” state yet but the state where he can still gather a lot of strength and tension. It shows. If Dean is aware his toes are curling? The sheets will be a mess but since it’s Sam’s fault he shouldn’t be the one to complain. Dean, who usually arrives at their doorstep with a holler and something greasy to eat, has been reduced to breathless whimpers, high-pitched enough that if Dean remembers them tomorrow he will unquestionably deny them. Like a secret. Something maybe only Sam will be able to recall. He likes the idea.

Cas doesn’t last much longer than Sam did, but Sam can’t deny that he can barely wait to get back where Cas is right now. It hasn’t worked this well ever since Ruby, and that’s a fucking long time ago. _Making up for lost time_ or something like that. Almost painful to watch Cas riding out his climax, head thrown back and then lolling to the side in total relaxation, mouth hanging open and sigh fading into a blissed laugh, hips hitching, Dean huffing for breath now that he is no longer folded into two. A glance between their bellies shows a lot of smearing but definitely no orgasm from Dean yet. Could be a silent competition between Cas and him who makes Dean pop first, could just be unimportant; Dean probably couldn’t come even if they broke out the toy collection (Sam’s favorite “guaranteed to make you nut” prostate wand). Not like Sam is _not_ gonna try though.

When Cas doesn’t show any sign of will to move so soon, Sam gets up to drag him to the side. He’s looked up at when he puts his hand on Cas’ hip though, dark lashes blinking lazily, sweetly.

Lopsided, hopeful grin. “Can you put it in my mouth? Only a second, okay? I just... It’s been real long since the last time.” Lick of lips; and Sam’s cock drips traitorously.

“It’s been in him fifteen minutes ago,” Sam reminds.

“Don’t care,” purrs Cas. “C’mon. Please. Miss your beautiful, beautiful hard cock. Please?”

“You’re nasty,” murmurs Sam but at the same time slides right into Cas’ waiting mouth. Cas hollows his cheeks and moans as if this was a porn flick, eyes closed for a while of bobbing his head down the length of Sam’s shaft, then flashing wide and blue when he works himself down to the base with gentle twists that have Sam trembling in his skin. Cas doesn’t even gag. Sam wishes they could do this more often; just the two of them. Some things just don’t work though, and it’s nobody’s fault. (Cas reminds him of that every now and then, and Sam is grateful for every single time.)

Cas coughs once and efficiently when Sam pulls out, pats Sam’s thigh and smiles, “Go get him, tiger.” Dean’s legs are splayed open and Cas withdraws, sits back on his haunches. “How do you want him?”

“Hands and knees,” rumbles Sam.

Cas frowns. “You think that’ll work? He’s kinda... out.”

“It will,” Sam decides, pushes Cas aside to arrange Dean’s seemingly boneless body to his likings. It can’t be comfortable for Dean and there will be complaints later about a lot of other things than his ass being sore, but that’s okay, Sam can deal with that. Dean is beautiful like this – slumped over, back arching low, ass high up and gaping. Sam draws his breath open-mouthed, shaking, eyes pinned to where both Cas and him fucked their customer into a mess. Angry inside-red, faint traces of frothing come; definitely too little lube. A palmful takes care of that and Sam finds himself back on his knees, Cas next to him, cock spent and body covered in sweat, and he’s beautiful when he smiles like that. All lovingly. All appreciative.

Sam manages to motivate Cas to get up on his knees for a kiss all the while he thumbs and urges his way back into Dean who picks his voice back up. Cas is gone then until Sam can feel him biting his way up the back of his thigh. He snarls and tries to get a hold of Cas’ hair, fails, then groans and shivers and has to stop moving for a second because Cas’ tongue is close to illegal when it’s worming its ways up into his ass.

“God, fuckin’...! Cas...”

The world is rotating real slow, and Sam squeezes his eyes closed in order not to lose his balance. Here, he can feel it all – the fullness, the tension, the melting-down-and-coming-alive.

If Dean had denied them, Sam probably would have broken into tears.

~

The garage closes at five so Dean usually is at their place at around eight, smelling like a fresh shower and fresher smoke, maybe a beer or something more hefty on the weekends. He’s older than Sam and maybe that’s just one other item on that big “plus” list; Cas is older than both of them. Maybe being both younger _and_ having the upper hand is what makes it so good. Maybe Sam has a thing for power play. Cas had suggested that way earlier than Dean had appeared.

“I hate tuna,” frowns Sam.

“Well, too bad. Shut up and eat your goddamn pizza, kid.”

Maybe Sam likes a challenge, too. Likes the warning glare Dean shoots him when he’s told to take his pants off; this is Sam’s house, so get with the rules or get out. Dean manages to look offended for maybe five seconds before he listens like any good soldier (any _dog_ ) would. Cas is wearing nothing underneath that some sort of spaghetti strap dress Meg must have forgotten after last weekend, his beard unkempt and now fringed with cheese. Sam, as so often, is the only one in a respectable outfit – shirt, flannel, jeans, boots, wristwatch. He likes to stand out as much as he has troubles accepting that even here, he won’t truly belong. He eats his share after plucking off the tuna.

Bathroom, few grams of white, back of hand, mirror, okay. It’s Friday. Gotta treat yourself a little every now and then, Sammy.

He had asked before tooting and Dean had agreed, sure, why not, but Sam does notice the questioning gaze from the sofa. Standing still, he lets Dean stare his fill. Coke makes Sam loose and nervous at the same time, urges him to move; gets his dick stiffer. He’s sweating a bit from the initial rush, chest maybe raising a little too quick, and Dean looks kind of scared with one of Cas’ favorite bongs (the acid green one; orange twirls, handmade, some city in New Mexico Sam forever pretends not to remember) in his hands, another falling-apart band print t-shirt the only thing Sam would have to cut off of him if he had to.

Sam’s fingers twitch. “Changed your mind?”

Dean hesitantly decides, “No.”

“You sure? It’d be okay. I’d understand.”

“No,” Dean repeats. “I’m cool with it.”

Dean flicks the zippo under his thumb, sucks with his eyes casted down. He comes back up with a frown and a deep inhale he lingers in after letting go of the pipe. God, Sam loves the way those lips can pout (stretch, open, close, suck). Dean expels the smoke in one long, audibly enjoyable exhale.

“It’s kinda hot, actually,” Dean admits.

Cas kicks his boots off after coming home and slips right next to Dean to take a quick turn on the bowl first, Dean’s mouth later. The way Cas moans from just that means that his “errand” was to get a hold of Garth which equals to popping a pill or two (“For old times’ sake, Sammy.”).

Yeah. Okay.

Dean is fair-skinned. Cas scored a picture of him in his work overall (the blue kind) and Sam had done a few minor humiliating things to be allowed to see it. Nothing, though, compares to handprints on said fair skin. Faint promise of freckles, shadow of coarse hairs below the tailbone, but then – red, Sam-sized and perfect. Sam likes to sink his teeth in for added effect, and Dean’s grunts tell him he’s drooling into the pipe again, spurts precome into their couch again.

“That’s _art_ ,” gasps Cas.

Sam, whose world is reduced to the neglected throb between his legs, has nothing to add to that.

One thumb up Dean’s ass, pulling apart, savoring the flush pinkness. Sam licks his lips. The bong gives a sad bubbling and Cas is sweet enough to go refill it for their customer while Sam turns him spit-messy from behind. A muted mumble about _wrap it, goddamn Sam, we talked about this_ , but Sam’s dick is aching-wet and nudging inside already and Dean only groans at that, dry and beat already and then shivers when Sam notices with too much affection for this only being a goddamn trade of goods, “Fuck, looks like pussy lips.”

“Ohmygod,” rumbles Dean, and Sam can feel that squeeze as if it were his own balls, then slides home as easy as anything because it’s been maybe three weeks and Dean’s ass is _so used_ to getting split open.

Accommodated. Changed. Ruined, kinda; a little like Sam’s head.

“Lemme see, ohfuck, lemme see!” That’s impossible and Dean should know, still cranes his neck and looks turned out already from only getting stuffed full with cock. Sam loves that look on him; weed-blown eyes, lick-hungry mouth and wrinkled forehead when those brows are drawing so tight – so much wonder, that dumb innocence he somehow shares with Cas sometimes... Oh god, _Sam_ **_loves_**.

“Don’t drop the goddamn bong,” growls Sam while Cas moans, “I’ll get the cam.”

Dean smokes dutifully, moans into the pipe dutifully (would do _anything_ on command), shoulders tense and ass stuck out for Sam to slam his hips against it, make it fucking jiggle. Tee rucked up and never high enough, Sam’s hand roams underneath, brushes over skin and through sweat and Dean is so tender everywhere, so hurtable and kind and asking for it (for everything, anything; mouth bitten tight and eyes to drown in, _always_ ). Then Cas pushes up against Sam’s side, just there, all touchy and writhing and his pretty cock tenting his dress, slight shake to his fingers holding their camcorder.

The flash is turned on and Sam stares at the display together with his boyfriend. Dean’s skin being pulled and pushed wherever Sam’s cock goes, following, sticking, and so wet and pink and oh god it really _really_ does look like...

And the cam is gone and Cas too and then Dean’s breath hitches over what Cas shows him on replay. Sam loses it, a little, and pounds Dean hard enough for Cas not to trust him with his beloved equipment anymore. Not that Dean would be able to smoke at this point anyway.

Cas is standing then, hem of dress between his teeth and hands around Dean’s head, crown and jaw, and judging by the sounds he’s fucking Dean’s throat now (slow but steady improvement ever since day one but he’s still choking like it’s the first time). Dean in between them like a hotwire, some kind of double fleshlight. Sam loses it a little bit more over that.

_Ball-scratching easy, torn jeans, most boner-worthy wrinkles around corners of eyes and an almost guilty, “’S that make me your prostitute?”_

_He should have said something back then already, had felt it back then already with his cock straining the fly of his jeans and palms sweaty and heart flayed open like this was not business talk but so much more, so much deeper and heavier._

_Yeah. Should have. Instead finished Cas’ flirting, “You’re a customer, sweetheart,” with a razor-mean, “Like everyone else.”_

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._


End file.
